


Starring Lord Calroy Cruller as My Cousin Vinny

by ChuckTaylorUpset



Category: A Crown of Candy (Season 6 of Dimension 20 Web Series), Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author unapologetically team pro Calroy Cruller and would trust him with her life, BAMF Calroy Cruller, Campaign 05: A Crown of Candy, Canon Typical Heresy, Canon Typical Seriousness, Canon Typical Unrealistically Cinematic And Expository PTSD Flashbacks, Counter-Whomp, Courtly Politicking, Fix-It, Gen, Good Calroy Cruller, Immediately Post Episode 5, In that the fic is named what it is named no regrets but also it is serious, Officially a, Politics, Unapologetic Rules Lawyering, Verbal Bitchslap, but like. to their faces, dramatic speeches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckTaylorUpset/pseuds/ChuckTaylorUpset
Summary: Soon to be AU because it will inevitably be Jossed by episode 6.  What if immediately after the Pontifex’s proclamation to seize the Candians, Calroy gets a Nat 20 intelligence check and delivers the maxxed damage counter-whomp of a lifetime.
Relationships: Calroy Cruller & Amethar Rocks
Comments: 39
Kudos: 64





	1. Cal: That's bullshit, this whole thing is bullshit, that's a scam, fuck the church.  Here's 95 reasons why.

Calroy can feel the equilibrium of the crowd tipping like a ship deck under his feet during a storm. He is caught in the moment after a misstep hits the point of no return and there is nothing to do but to lean into the fall and try and land on his feet.

A riotous outburst is rapidly brewing in the crowd. Soon there will be no more ears aware enough to listen to reason above the chaos. The Church guards have already leveled their spears in preparation of their approach.

Before the guard can even take their first step Calroy is sprinting across the floor of the dais to where Lady Uvano stands next to his king. He plucks St. Citrine’s book from their hands and holds it aloft like a ragged battlefield banner to rally behind. Above his head the book glows in his grasp, its holy blue light like a lit beacon. He feels its holy power wash over him. When the words come, he knows not just that they are the only words that can stop the madness, but also he knows for the first time that he is certain they are true.

“ _ Halt! Halt armsmen! _ ” He shouts. “ _ The Pontifex lies! I can prove it.” _

A silence falls over the crowd, so complete that it rings in his ears. The guards freeze in place, the pointed teeth of the churches maw paused, mouth open, midbite. Amethar stands next to him, staring at him with eyes startled and wide, jaw slack, and Calroy has no idea what to do.

“I must apologize for speaking indelicately.” He must apologize, that is true. He must hope it escapes the minds of the gathered crowd that what his words lack is any actual apology. “It is only that it is apparent that the Pontifex is mistaken. Things are not so clear cut as she would have them seem.”

The last words leave his mouth and with them go the last gambit he has to stall. His thoughts feel as if they are happening in a molasses pit, slowly and far away; as if he left them behind in the first moment he sprinted forward.

For a moment his emptied mind is swept away to a distant and long ago battlefield. The ground strewn with bodies, his head ringing with a blow as he watches helplessly at the clash of swords and falling of corpses around him. 

He feels the echo of the fear he felt then, the confusion and horror at the realization that he had lost track of Amethar. It is overlayed with the knowledge that came later, that at this moment as he was standing in the heart of a battlefield, Amethar and Joren were standing over the dead body of General Roccocoa. His breath quickens in panic, his eyes dart around.

“They got Manta Ray Jack,” Amethar’s low voice whispers in his ear. “Let’s fuck ‘em up.”

In the distance he can see the bruised battered broken body of Manta Ray Jack appear at the very edges of his field of vision, like a mirage and almost unreal. He is taken by a breathless battlefield fury. He wants to draw his sword and cut down every soldier between him and Jack. He wants to force the Pontifex’s regret out at swordpoint. 

He gazes at Amethar out of the corner of his eye. His king’s eyes are steady his jaw no longer slack. Amethar looks back at Calroy with his muscles tensed and ready to go. There is a look there that Calroy has not seen in twenty years. There is no lost bewilderment as Amethar trails in his wake as he has done at court all these years. There is nothing in his gaze but the whole certainty that all that there is needed to do is to follow where Calroy leads. That Calroy is the plan that will get them out of this. 

And that certainty fills him until he is overflowing. The only thing in his mind is the steady knowledge of what he must do, and with that he turns to stare up at the Pontifex. She looks back intently, a cool veneer over the fact that she is itching to her fingertips with the need to call upon her guard the moment he slips an opening on which for her to advance.

“Pontfex,” he says, “do you,” the crowd in unison draws in a silent breath, “have a certificate of death for the first wife of Ki- of Amethar Rocks?”

The silence before her reply is as long and jagged as a knife while the most powerful person alive stares back at him with ice cold eyes. 

“I do not.”   


He takes a deep centering breath, and then he straightens his spine and squares his shoulders like the moment before a fight, like a dancer before the first note. And then he wills his mind to  _ move. _

“Do you have proof of contact or current custody of this woman?”   


“I do not.” 

“So to be clear,” he raises his voice so that it rings crisp and clear up across the crowd to the topmost rafters of the room. “The last time anyone had contact with this woman was twenty years ago during the Ravening War, a time of warfare and slaughter?”

There is no reply to his question this time and he does not wait for her to marshall her thoughts into a counterattack strong enough to make it worth it for her to deign to answer.

“Pontifex, is it not possible that this woman is in fact dead, and that when Amethar Rocks came to the altar a second time he was indeed a widow at the time of his marriage to Carmelinda?.”   
  
Her lip curls, and she speaks as if through a mouthful of broken glass. “It is.”

“And if Amethar Rocks was a widow at the time of his second marriage, that marriage would stand.”   
  
“Amethar Rocks could not have come into that marriage in good faith, he is an oath breaker and an--”

“And so is an adulterer who comes to the altar with plans to go to another one’s bed that very night.” He says, refusing to let her bear down on him. “And the spouse of one such as that would have every right to seek annulment, as Carmelinda does. But they would have to seek that annulment. It would not be dispelled by the church. I think if anything has been proven today it is that an annulment is not such an easy thing.”

Despite itself, the crowd titters. He turns a brief smile to them, makes them feel how they share this moment. A ringmaster throwing a wink to a crowd, a brief crack in the mask in a consummate performer. They are his entirely after that, and he can feel their excitement as he turns back to the show of a lifetime.   
  
“We do not judge based on what lies in mens’ hearts. Only the Bulb above knows what lies in our hearts, as I’m sure you yourself would say so, Pontifex. The law of the land is based on observable action, so let me ask you again, if Amethar Rocks came to his second marriage a widow, would that marriage be valid?”   
  
“Yes.” 

“So in fact you cannot prove that Amethar Rock’s marriage to Carmelinda is invalid.”

“I cannot.”

“Furthermore,” he adds, “furthermore, is it not true that even  _ if _ Amethar’s second marriage were invalidated, the first marriage would take his wife into House Rocks. In fact it would be her, or any heirs she might have borne by Amethar Rocks that would take the throne. So you cannot say that the King of Candia is Joren Jawbreaker.”   
  
“In fact,” he says. “The only way you would be able to do so, to say definitively that Duke Jawbreaker is the rightful ruler of Candia is if you had proof that Amethar Rocks’s first wife died in the time between now and after his marriage to Carmelinda, which as we have already established, you do not have, correct.”   
  
“Yes.” It is pulled from her.

“Candia,” he announces to his crowd, “is not at war with the Concord. House Rocks has been thrust into a succession crisis that cannot be resolved until news of this woman is found. But now Candia remains as it has been, a nation of the empire”   
  
“As such,” he levies his entire focus on the furthest forward guard. As he speaks, he builds his voice in volume and strength from an explanation to a resounding command. “We are not foreign nationals or enemy combatants. We are innocent citizens of Concord, and the guard have no right to lay hands on me, our party, or any of Candia’s envoys. Now lay down your arms”   
  
The lead guard meets his gaze and throws her spear with a clatter to the ground. The others follow her lead, some slowly, their eyes still on the Pontifex. Others thrust them down as if the shafts were on fire, or, rather, as if holding them would get them arrested for threatening a royal crown. 

Calroy has been on many battlefields. He has fought alongside the greatest warriors Calorum has to offer. He has seen many hopeless tides turned by these great fighters. But here he has no sword and no magic and he has balled up the edges of the battlefield in his hand and ripped it away from under their feet. He steps away to the next move with his head held high.   
  
“Now, we cannot leave the Concordant throne barren in the weeks it would take to scour the Dairy Island countryside. The business of deciding the emperor precedes all others as the Pontifex has so wisely shown. So, if we can get on with the business that we were here to do.” 

He strides over to Lady Plumbeline, takes her hand in his and presses it firmly to the cover of the book. “Lady Plumbeline Uvano, daughter of the late Concordant Emperor, did your father name but a single heir before he died.”   
  
She stares at a patch of ground, her breathing shallow. “He did, my lord.”   
  
“And was this person Senator Ciabatta?”

“It was not.”   
  
“But you said that it was.”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
Her lips move but no sound comes out. “Because I wanted to trigger an heir decision voted by the council. Because I wanted to be empress” Her voice breaks.

“And because,” She swallows down as if choked, her eyes darting around the room in search for a hole to dive through. Her eyes go everywhere but over his shoulder. “Because-- last night the Pontifex came to me and personally assured me that if such a vote was called she would use her political power to ensure that I was named empress.”

A shocked cry ripples through the crowd. Plumbeline sags back as if her puppet strings have been cut. It is strange, Calroy thinks. He has fought on many battlefields, and yet here he is with no sword in his hand and he has ended this woman’s life. She will have no career after this. She has lied about the words of the emperor and betrayed her father. 

Perhaps in another life he would have avoided making her betrayal so plain, or at least regretted it. But she had played her part to destroy his king and the greatest man he knew, and so he could not. Instead, he turns to Amethar and takes a purple pop rock hand and places it upon the book.

“Amethar Rocks, on the book of your sister, sweet St. Citrine, who did Emperor Gustavo Uvano name his heir?”   
  
He can hear Amethar’s lungs breathe in like a bellows, and when he speaks his deep voice echoes of the walls of the room. “Me.”   
  
Calroy looked past Amethar to the crowd. “Ordinarily, his excommunication would take Amethar Rocks out of consideration, and we would rely on the Pontifex to consider her decision in light of this new information. However, these are not ordinary circumstances. Sir Theobald Gumbar, knight of North Gumbia, as winner of the jousting tournament, who did you recommend as imperial candidate?”

All eyes turn automatically to Theo, and Calroy takes that moment to slip the book in to the waistband of his pants, hidden against his side by his jacket.

Theo drops his hand from his sword and straightens, as if he had not noticed where his hand remained even with the danger passed. “I nominated Amethar Rocks.”

Calroy nods and faces the Pontifex. “Amethar Rocks, while excommunicated, is not a citizen of an enemy land. He is a citizen of the Concord, and as such is still a valid successor to the Emperor Uvano. All that is left, Pontifex, is for you to sign the papers confirming the imperial candidate at the behest of the dying wishes of the Concordant Emperor, who passed away with his will known but unrealized as the papers lay in your hands. Will you sign them?”   


“I will not.”

Calroy nodded. He had not thought she would. She had come too far and was too desperate to stop now. 

“Then in accordance with imperial law, the council will vote on the next emperor. There can be no representative from Candia since Amethar Rocks is excommunicated, and the succession uncertain.  _ However _ , since you have been so wise as to suspend the trial in order to deal with the more important business of deciding the emperor first, the Count of Freezyburg Liam Wilhemina has not been convicted of any crime and is thus still on the council.”

This was probably the point that Calroy should have left it.

His darling Donetta always did say he never could manage to just leave it be.

“You will get your vote, Pontifex, but so will everyone else despite your labors to the contrary. You will cast your vote and all the Concord will watch just as they have watched now as you have shown your true colors. They will know that while our Emperor lay dying, his last wish confirmed, you instead spent your time conspiring with Lady Uvano and ordering the arrest of Count Wilhemina and ordering the seize and torture an honorable house guard of Lacramoire. I had wondered, at the time of the arrival of your guard, how you dared to cast aspersions on the character of the man who saved the life of the King when you had not investigated the cause of the assassins and kingslayers that festered within your own house. I need not have wondered.”   
  
He moves towards her and closes in. An hour ago the guards would have stopped him, but now they watch spellbound as he moves across the room.

“Even now, whispers leak out of the Bulbian church. The holy light has gone out of the Primagen Alfredi’s eyes. Did she trick you, within the house of god? Or have your machinations doomed her soul? As it stands there are only two known miracle workers that come to my mind, the good Primogen Chancellor Lapin Cadbury and the sweet St. Citrine on whose book you made my king swear so you could plunge our Concord into war.”   
  
“There was never any need for you to wonder or investigate where this well of darkness sprung up, you were its source. May every Caloran know that when charged with obeying the emperor’s will, you instead chose to plunge our empire into war for the first time in twenty years. That in your hunger for power you would choose to devour us all whole.”

“You go to far Lord Cruller. You will cease with these lies and heresy!” The Pontifex roars, moving with a swift grace to bear down on him.   
  
“Lies?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Heresy?”   
  
“Yes!”

She stands shoulder to shoulder with him, using every bit of her height to attempt to cow him.   
  
“Swear it” he shouts to her face. “Swear on the bulb above that you have never plotted against the life of throne of the King of Candia and I will march myself into your dungeons!”   
  
“I swear,” the Pontifex’s voice rings out, “on the bulb above, that I did conspire to see Amethar Rocks dead or ruined before I would allow him to take the imperial throne.”

A chorus of cries erupts from the crowd, and then another when Calroy moves so they may see the holy book he touched to the Pontifex’s hand the moment she opened her mouth.

“So it is sworn, on the book of St. Citrine.” He lowers his voice and leans in to whisper to the Pontifex. “You are out of time.”   
  
“I suggest someone send a courier to find and summon Senator Ciabatta.” He speaks to the crowd, his eyes never leaving the Pontifex. “The imperial council will need to gather and decide on the heir to the imperial throne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta who is both a real life friend and a real friend. Your anonymity is as complete as my gratitude.
> 
> Don't forget to like and subscribe, comment and kudo, and stay tuned for Chapter 2.


	2. Vote Now on Your Phones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council convenes to vote and a new emperor is crowned.

In the end it is the young Duchess Primsy Coldbottle who orders a messenger to go and send for Senator Ciabatta. The courier she picks is an equally young Ceresian who promptly proceeds to brain themself on the courtroom’s front door in their haste to leave. They recover themself to their feet admirably well and speed off into the streets to find Senator Ciabatta.

While the crowd is distracted by the spectacle of the courier, Primsly quickly turns back to where Calroy stands on the dais, her eyes searching for answers.

Calroy responds the only way he can, with a helpless half shrug. 

The humor of the situation is not lost on him. Moments ago he was calling the most powerful person in the world a liar to her face and grinding an entire war to a halt with nothing but his wit and his words. Now he has to wait on the authority of a child to send a courier. He has reached the end of both his schemes and his authority. She will find no answers from him, there are none to be had.

For a brief moment a look comes across her face of bitter resignation, but not surprise. Then it is gone, both coming and going faster than he would have expected from Jet or Ruby in her place. This is a girl who has so frequently looked to adults for answers only to find that they have none that has become routine.

“Right,” she says, addressing the courtroom. Her face is now schooled into a look of pleasant authority. The crowd focuses in on her completely, having finally lost sight of the courier as they disappeared out of view. “As far as I can see it, there is not to be done until the courier returns with Senator Ciabatta. I would invite my fellow council members to prepare themselves to convene on his arrival, for the time being.”   
  
She ends the little speech with a nod, as if she too was listening to her speech for the first time, and found herself agreeing with it. Then she turns and steps away.

It takes a moment for it to sink in for the crowd that no, really, that’s it. Then it does and they erupt from their seats in a thousand shouted conversations. 

The guard are quick to form up between the various rulers and councilmembers and the advancing crowd, but quicker still Calroy spies Lord Stilton Cordeau springing to his feet to take the arm and ear of the Lady. His is the last face Calroy can see before he and Primsy disappear from his field of view, swallowed up out of sight by the bodies of the crowd.

“Somebody should do something about that.” He thinks to himself, and is almost immediately resigned to it being him. He is just working up the energy to force his way through the crowd and presume upon his and his wife’s friendship with Primsy strongly enough to forcefully insert himself into that conversation when Liam appears at his elbow.

Calroy jumps in surprise and lands with one hand on his sword and the other over his heart. Or where his heart would be had it not leapt in shock into his throat. “Saints alive,  _ Liam!  _ Wear a bell!” 

Many times Calroy has used his gifts and talents at stealth to sneak up and surprise Amethar. He finds he likes it much less from the other side of things.

Liam looks not at all abashed at having startled Cal, or even like he’s noticed at all Calroy starting. He also does not look at all ashamed at the fact that he must have immediately called upon his alacrity in order to have snuck past his guard and slipped through the crowd to arrive at Cal so fast. Not that one would know from looking at him, that alacrity belied by his awkward demeanor and gangly limbs. Liam stands, Peppermint Preston in his arms, and looks like he always does: awkward, uncomfortable, and on the verge of starting to run.

“Hey Cal, so, that was crazy. I understand, like, none of what just happened. You stopped a war? I guess? Which is crazy. But uh, super good job.”   
  
“Thank you, Liam.”

“Haha, right,” Liam looks past Calroy, as if he didn’t even hear the words. “so just to be clear that means I should not run away?”   
  
“What,” says Calroy.   
  
“Or I should run away?”   
  
Before Calroy can think of any cogent response to that they are thankfully interrupted.

“Master Liam!” Theobald shouts, panting as he jogs over in a mass of clanking plate armor, presumably out of breath from pushing through the crowd. The overall effect is that he and Amethar’s approach is much less subtle than Liam’s, which is appreciated by Calroy’s nerves.

“You can’t just run off like that, I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Theo scolds as he arrives in front of Liam and Cal. “Oh, hey Cal.” He adds, as if just for the first time noticing Calroy standing there in plain view.

“Sir Theobald,” Cal acknowledges, with an incline of his head.

Meanwhile, Liam’s usual combination of awkward and apologetic has titled toward emphasizing the apologetic. “Theo! Right, I’m sorry, I forgot. It’s just. Cal was so awesome and did a crazy good job at, like, maybe stopping the war and stuff and I figured that would make a really good compliment. So, sorry. I’m sorry.” Liam trailed off, apparently feeling he had already overshot the end of an adequate explanation for slipping out of custody, somehow.

“Hey, no, you’re right. That was crazy. Cal, I think you just saved all of us, so, thank you.”

“Yeah, Cal’s great, everybody knows Cal’s great,” Amethar adds, then turns his full attention onto Cal. “Hey, come here.”   
  
He is moving toward Cal even before he finishes speaking and sweeps him up into a hug that is disorienting in completeness of its strength and perfection. Calroy feels his body involuntarily relax based on pure animal instinct. His legs give out having decided that with their feet no longer touching the ground they have no job other than to trustingly melt into Amethar. 

Amethar gives good hugs. 

After a moment his king steps back and releases him. Amethar’s hands go immediately to hold Calroy by the shoulders, and his bright eyes and their searching gaze sweep over him in a once over. “Hey, great  _ great _ work out there. Are you okay? Are you good? That was— intense.” 

“Am I— am I okay?” Calroy says incredulously, staring at Amethar, slack jawed and bug-eyed. Amethar and his returning gaze seems as serious and sincere as ever.

Calroy sputters. “You— you just got your marriage and your family torn up in front of everyone, and you’re asking me if I’m okay? What, are you kidding me, are  _ you  _ okay?”

At the mention of his family, Amethar flinches away and his mighty hands drop from Calroy’s shoulders. 

“Well, yeah.” Amethar replies lamely, not meeting Calroy’s eyes.

Amethar has never been one to hide his emotions, and as a result has never developed any sort of skill to that effect. Calroy can read both his king’s sincerity and denial flowing off him in waves. Amethar’s eyes dart around the courtroom in panic. The realization about the meaning of these events hasn’t sunk in yet, but it is fast approaching and every bit of Amethar is working as hard as it can to put off that realization as long as possible. Amethar’s concern for Calroy is sincere, and it is also a way to run away from the oncoming weight of that inevitable realization.

In hindsight, Calroy regrets throwing his family in his king’s face so baldly.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Calroy’s mouth feels numb and clumsy around the words as his brain crunches with the weight of changing its direction of its turning wheels. “Actually, I think it’s just hitting me, all that insanity that just happened. Adrenaline crash. We should sit down.”

He really thinks, whatever happens next, that Amethar should be sitting down. Although as he thinks it the truth of his own words hits him, and Calroy longs for a chair himself. Well, it’s not the first time Calroy has lied so well he’s accidentally stumbled upon the truth.

Amethar nods, looking resolute and much more steady now that there is a battle plan and a goal and a person to protect. “Yeah, okay, that’s a good idea. Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”

Now that Calroy is thinking of Amethar’s family, he realizes with a flash of fear that he’s lost track of Jet and Ruby in the riotous swell of the crowd. His head jerks around as his gazes shifts wildly about the courtroom. With a breath of relief he spots them across the courtroom, just outside the crowd, craning their necks at the same angle, mirror images both looking for a way through. 

Calroy feels the sharp edge of adrenaline begin to recede again. All of this sudden spiking and ebbing is truly terrible for his health.

“Are we thinking of heading over on that side,” He asks, pointing out some empty benches.

Amethar agrees. “Yeah, let’s go sit over there.”   


“Are we sitting down,” Lapin says, right between them.

This time Calroy full on shrieks and does a half skip off the ground and then overbalances. He would have fallen backward had he not just [b] fallen into Amethar’s truly impressive frame.

“Lapin, fuck, you can’t just appear like that.” Amethar wraps a steadying and comforting hand around Calroy’s shoulders. “Cal, you okay?”   
  
“I’m fine, I’m  _ fine _ . Everybody needs to stop fucking sneaking up on me for two seconds before my heart gives out.”   
  
“Yeah well,” Amethar gives a goofy grin right up in Calroy’s face. “I think it’ll be good for you, taste of your own medicine.”   
  
“I am so sorry,” Lapin says. His voice is perfectly even but Calroy swears he can sense the rabbit’s droll concern. “I only thought to join you so that we might discuss what happens next. I do hope I haven’t caused too much trouble.”   
  
“Should you be here?” Theo asks in that abrupt way he has in lieu of subtlety. “Shouldn’t you be with the church, you know,” —Theo lowers his voice— “keeping your cover?”   
  
“ _ Okay, what the hell was that? _ ” Thinks Calroy, very much wishing someone would fill him in on whatever Lapin’s deal is already.

Lapin arches an eyebrow at Theo. It is a sturdy arch. It holds up a lot of implied judgement and condescension, as befits a man with a great deal of subtlety confronted with a man who has none. Calroy is impressed even as he is annoyed. “I do not think anybody would begrudge me preferring to be a Candian to a Bulbian right now.”    
  
Calroy glances over to check in on the Pontifex and finds her side by side with a reedy looking onion man who is nervously and rapidly talking off her ear. The Pontifex stands tall and serene and unfairly unlike someone who just got her personal machinations spilled before the entire Caloran court not fifteen minutes before. She looks completely unconcerned by whatever words are pouring in a torrent from the mouth of the union man, or at the uncertainty of her oncoming fate.

“Also,” Lapin continues, smoothing out the front of his robe. “I still have a promise to fulfill to Liam.”   
  
“Haha, yup, because I’m still very much on trial. Unless I leave?” Liam says, nervously securing a better grip on Peppermint Preston. The pig must have moved with the same surprising speed and stealth of his master to have appeared in Liam’s hand’s without Cal noticing. Liam clutches Peppermint Preston to his chest and looks at Calroy. “And you know, take off while everyone’s distracted.”

Lapin puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam, I still have every intention of keeping my promise to you. You will be protected. It will be alright.

“Yeah Liam, you don’t have to worry.” Theo adds, his voice soft. “We’ve got your back.”

Theo ends his words with a small but hopeful and encouraging smile. Liam acknowledges their words with a nod. And then another nod. The boy’s head keeps bobbing up and and down, like a desk toy or a ball that’s popped to the surface of the drink.

“Cool, cool, cool, cool. Yeah, okay, okay,” Liam processes, his fingers slowing where they are skritching Peppermint Preston’s chin, until the little pig gives a disgruntled squeak and paws at the slowing hand. Liam’s fingers speed up again. “That does make me feel a lot better and a lot more safe. Um, well, Cal what do you think?”   
  
“What me?” Cal says in surprise. It is an unexpected honor to be held so high as a source of council. He thinks it over quickly, and sighs. “Liam, I can’t tell you what to do. I will say that without anyone on the Candian throne, you are the closest we have to a Candian council member on the imperial councilor and if you aren’t here that’s a vote we lose. And if Amethar does get made emperor, that’s probably the strongest position for all of us. Certainly for you in regards to your trial it is better to defend yourself as ward to an emperor instead of a man who’s only title is that he used to be king.

“Alternatively, if Amethar doesn’t get made emperor, and instead the Pontifex’s choice sits on the throne, we’re all going to be in a lot of trouble, as the first order of business is probably going to be finding some pretense to arrest all of us before we can go back and raise an army in rebellion over obstruction of the late emperor’s will and the stealing of the pick of successor.”

“Oof, that’s a lot. That is, not good.” Liam says, taking it all that in. “So I should stay and vote for Amethar? Yeah I’ll do that. I want Amethar to be emperor. I’ll stay.”   
  
“Thanks Liam,” Amethar says, distractedly, his attention instead turned onto the churning body of the crowd. “Where the hell are my daughters?”   
  
With a sixth sense that has been keenly honed over the course of his life and particularly in the war and the princesses' rebelliousness, Calroy has awareness he is about to be fucked with. His mind moves with supernatural speed as he takes in Peppermint Preston’s ears pricking up, a shadow moving toward their group on the floor, all of it comes together into a moment of understanding just in time for him to manage to stifle his surprise when Jet and Ruby appear to flank Theo, who jumps in a clatter of plate armor.

“We couldn’t get through the crowd.” Jet’s voice is brimming with frustration.

“Yeah, it’s like a blockade out there.” Ruby says, seamlessly falling into an identical patter of speech as her sister   
  
“Is it? I didn’t notice that.” Liam says, a touch smugly.

Ignoring him, Ruby picks up where she left off and twins continue to switch off as two speakers of the same story. “We wanted to get to Primsy, tell her about Stilton. We just couldn’t get through.”   
  
“So then we tried to go guard Manta Ray Jack, but Primsy already sent Sir Morris Brie.”   
  
“We wanted to help but he said we should head back to you, check up on how you’re doing, Pops.”   
  
“Yeah Pops, how are you feeling?” The twins finish their story with identical tilts of their heads in concern.   
  
Amethar coughs uncomfortably. “Uh, we don’t need to talk about right now. Now is not the time for feelings, now is the time for action. We need to talk about what happens next.”   
  
Jet looks at the floor. “I mean I know I have some feelings about finding out you and mom aren’t married and that I’m a bastard in front of the whole kingdom.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I was there and that was not super fun.” Ruby’s eyes dart from her father to her sister as she speaks. 

“But Pops, you’re right,” Jet says loudly. “Now is not the time for such inconvenient emotions.”   
  
“Now hold on, I didn’t mean— we can talk about it if you want to.” Amethar stutters, flustered.

“No, it’s alright. I am a warrior and as such I will wear my pain on the inside of my sleeve and not let it hinder anyone as we attend to more important matters.”   
  
“Yeah. Stoic. That’s us.” Ruby chimes, her tone muted.

Calroy is truly entranced by the painting covering the stonework of the ceiling of the church. It is of remarkable craftsmanship of some religious iconography he has none of the expertise to decipher. He would ask Lapin about it if the man were not similarly engrossed in a stained glass window. In fact it seems that everyone in the group present not directly involved in the Rock’s family drama have taken to suddenly and intently studying different sections of the church. 

Calroy reminds himself of what happened the last time he tried to insert himself into Amethar’s personal life. In the early days of Amethar’s marriage to Caramelinda, Calroy’s habit of leaping to Amethar’s defense in all matters of court led to him inserting himself in an argument between the two of them. Caramelinda had nearly bitten his head off, but had instead she had told Donetta, which was arguably worse. Even then that might not have gotten it through to him had it not been for Amethar’s quiet disappointment. A sort of resigned helplessness Calroy had sworn to never again be the cause of him to indulge in.

“Hey,” Liam says, breaking off of his study of the tiled floors that were nowhere near intricate enough to deserve the careful attention they were getting. “Where’s Plumbeline?”

All of them spring apart, craning their necks to find her, before Amethar spots her off in a corner by herself, her shoulders hunched in.

The group breathes a collective sigh of relief, Liam loudest of all. “Sorry, I just got worried she’d taken the chance to slip, like I was thinking about. Not that I would, I’m definitely sticking around. But since I am, uh, what happens now?”

Everyone turns to stare at Calroy. Calroy looks back at their expectant faces and heaves a sigh. “Why don’t we sit down?”   
  
They stake out some empty pews, he thinks he sees Jet hipcheck an oncoming Fructeran noblewoman away. They have to walk past the ones that are currently being moved and set up to form a makeshift circle for the imminently convening council.

It is a relief to Calroy to feel the sturdy wood under his seat, and to see Amethar likewise firmly sat down as everyone gathers around. 

Calroy gathers himself and speaks, “I find it highly unlikely Lady Plumbeline is going to try and give anyone the slip, much for the same reason as you, Liam. She has probably also determined that her best chance to have any of her remaining days walking free is to vote with the Pontifex and try and get whoever that pick is made emperor. Because what happens next is that the council is going to vote and decide who becomes the next emperor.”   
  
“So the Pontifex has Plumbeline and herself, right?” Theo asks, searching for confirmation from the group. “So it’s Amethar versus Plumeline.”   
  
“Ooh,” Ruby says, wincing. “No offense but that is not a good matchup, Pops. She’s a better statesman than you.”

“Well, I don’t think ol’ Plumbeline is going to be so popular now that Theo’s knocked her off her horse, right Theo?” Jet says, cheerily punching Theo in the side.   
  
Ruby’s brow wrinkles and she mutters to herself. “Stateswoman. Statesperson. Person of state— speaker!”

“Yes,” Theo says, rubbing over the plate where Jet punched, as if soothing a phantom of expected pain. “Thank you, your highness.”   
  
“Oh, Theo” Jet grins. “You don’t get to call me ‘your highness’ anymore, I am now officially just a bastard.”   
  
At Calroy’s side, Amethar flinches.

“If I may cut in,” Lapin drolls, “I do believe part of what Lord Cruller has established is that it is possible that you are not a bastard, as we do not know the rightful ruler of Candia.”   
  
“Wow, thanks Lapin for taking all the fun out of everything, now I can’t even be a bastard?” Jet huffs. 

“You’re welcome, your highness.” Lapin says, deadpan. “Lord Cruller has also established the unquestionable guilt of both the Lady Plumbeline and the Pontifex. So I imagine that is also another reason for her to be in not too popular of standing within the council at present.”   
  
“Wait, isn’t Plumbeline, like, Gustavo’s daughter?” Liam says, his words bright with a new realization. “Can she even be nominated, or is that against the rules? I remember that being a big deal.” 

Calroy quickly puts a stop to that train of thought. “The emperor cannot name an heir of their own house or nation, unless the champion of the joust does it for them. The council is not bound by such rules, as a contingency in the case that the emperor’s child is the clear best choice of successor, the emperor is incentivized to take a risk and cede power of the choice of succession to the council in the hopes that their child will prevail as the best candidate.”   
  
“Okay, but would that ever actually happen?” Ruby asks, “Everyone just agreeing to hand off power? I mean it requires the council’s rational cooperation and forsaking the pursuit of power.”   
  
Calroy shrugs. “I guess the founders of our empire found there to be more to fear from the emperor hoarding power through nepotism than the council, and weighted the risk as such. But all this discussion is a moot point. Because while the technical answer to your question is yes, the Pontifex can nominate Plumbeline if she wants, I think it is highly unlikely that she actually will. You’re right to say that Plumbeline is not popular right now. Picking her will win the Pontifex no extra friends. And meanwhile, Plumbeline knows that her best shot at freedom is to go along with whoever the Pontifex picks, so there’s no danger of recourse or punishment if the Pontifex decides to go for a different pick. In fact, I would be very surprised if the Pontfiex did pick Plumbeline.”   
  
“Wow, so no matter what there’s no way she can win? Poor Plumbeline.” Ruby says.   
  
“Okay, I mean, not too much poor Plumbeline.” Amethar cuts in. “She lied about what Gustavo wanted and helped the people who almost ripped our family apart and had me killed, so not too much of poor Plumbeline.”

Calroy agrees. Plumbeline had been approached by the Pontifex after not one but two separate members had been arrested for attempted regicide while there was a known ongoing series of assassination attempts on the Candian King. There was approximately no chance that the intelligent and cunning politically minded woman didn’t know or at least suspect exactly who she was getting into bed with.

“Oh are we talking about what just almost happened to our family now?” Ruby asks, cuttingly.

Now that Calroy looks at it, there is a slight imperfection in the artwork of the ceiling. A spidery hairline fracture running so close to the linework it could easily be missed. How fascinating.

“No, Ruby, you speak your mind,” Jet encourages her sister. “You know I think it’s perfectly valid that Ruby finds sympathy with a strong and powerful woman in politics who, perhaps doesn’t have as much as a choice in her life as she should based on the secrets that are kept from her.”   
  
“Okay,” Amethar says slowly. “I hear what you’re saying, and I know what you’re actually talking about and you’re right. But also, I am not crazy for saying she literally wanted to help the people that would get us killed.”

Calroy wondered if he was the only one to notice this imperfection or if he shared this knowledge with some other bored or hapless soul. He wonders if he wouldn’t rather be in their shoes right now. Although he supposes perhaps they unknowingly thought the same of him.

“Okay!” Theo interrupts, loudly forging ahead. “So it’s going to be Amethar versus whoever the Pontifex picks. And on our side, we don’t have a council member. So it’s just Liam and I guess also Primsy.”   
  
“Yeah, if Stilton doesn’t turn her against us.” Jet spits, successfully sidetracked from her earlier argument.

“Argh, I knew we should have pushed through.” Ruby shakes her head in regret.

“Let’s not forget that we also have Sir Theobald,” Lapin adds. “And his vote for Amethar, by nominating him with his pick as the jousting champion.”   
  
“Oh,” Theo says, sheepishly pleased. “Yeah, that’s right. I did do that.”   
  
“Good job, Theo.” Liam says.

“Thank you, Master Liam.” Theo says, “And thank you too, Lapin.”   
  
“It was hardly a compliment to state a fact.” Lapin says, prissily.   
  
“Yeah. Of course.” Theo continues to look pleased. 

“So who does that leave?” Amethar asks.

Calroy quickly counts off the people in his head. “Prince Cabbage, Lord Basha Myaso, and Senator Ciabatta.”   
  
“Well, after last night I think it’s safe to say that the Senator is probably on our side.” says Ruby. 

Jet adds in, “Yeah, if he ever gets here.”   
  
“Yeah, where is he? Liam’s trial is like, a big deal, what is he even doing?”

“Wait, but, didn’t Plumbeline say that the Emperor nominated him? Isn’t that just a little suspicious?” asks Theo.   
  
“Well I mean not really,” Calroy says, absentmindedly stating the obvious. The group turns to stare at him and it occurs to him that perhaps it was not so obvious. He explains, “think about it from the perspective of Plumbeline and the Pontifex. Plumbeline needs to say someone who isn’t Amethar to trigger the council vote. She cannot nominate herself. Prince Cabbage is ineligible as he is not the ruler of Vegetania. Everyone knows Basha Myaso is not a Bulbian, so nominating him and him winning is too much of a risk. That leaves Primsy Coldbottle and Senator Ciabatta. No one is going to believe the Emperor nominated a sixteen year old girl. Senator Ciabatta is the only plausible choice.

“I don’t think his nomination is a sign that he’s on their side. In fact the Pontifex could have very easily argued that the Emperor naming two heirs is a sign of incompetence, and propose her own. The second nominee may have never been intended to win. My bet is Brassica was working exclusively with the church, and in her mad scramble to put together a working plan she literally added Plumbeline last night.”   
  
“We  _ did  _ get a bunch of good information from going along with him.” Jet says slowly.   
  
“Yeah, he didn’t have to invite us. That was a big risk if he’s secretly against us.” Ruby finishes.

“I guess I feel pretty confident about Ciabatta being on our side.” Jet says.    
  
“Whose side is Prince Cabbage on?” Liam asks.

Everyone turns to look at Prince Cabbage. He is currently on the other side of the room with a foggy and distant expression on his face as one of his courtiers whispers in his ear. From the glazed look in his eye, he does not seem to be getting very much out of whatever explanation he’s receiving. From the frustrated look of the courtier, it may not even be the first time for them to be giving it.

“King Cabbage could have abdicated in favor of his son, in order to give him a chance at the imperial throne.” Calroy remarks. “Either old Cabbage is so power hungry that he clings to the throne even on his deathbed, or he finds his son to be so incompetent and unfit to rule that he could not take any risk him sitting upon the Vegetanian throne , and clings to his own rule for the sake of his people.”   
  
“Yeah, who knows what he’s going to do or what’s going on in his head.” Theo says.

“Or if there is anything going on in his head, am I right?” Jet says with a grin.

“Hey, nice.” Liam grins back. Jet collects high fives from her cousin and her sister.

“One, that was very nicely done your— Jet. Two, could we maybe get back to figuring out what’s going to happen please?” Theo asks.

“Right, sorry.” Liam hunches over a little, still smiling. He turns to playing with Peppermint Preston, which has the added benefit of allowing him to avoid all eye contact.

“Well, I’m not apologizing.” Jet stays, also still grinning.

“Basha Myaso will vote for us, right?” Ruby says, back on topic. “The Church hates him and he hates the Church.”

Basha stands on the opposite side of the room, flanked by his wife and a guard. His thick arms are banded across his chest. He speaks to no one, but his eyes are glowering in careful observation of the room.

“But he also hates us.” Jet says, tearing her eyes from Basha Myaso. “Because he thinks we framed him for trying to kill Pops.”   
  
“No, he just found out that the Pontifex really did try to kill us.”   
  
“Oh. Right. So he has no reason to hate us! Maybe he will vote for us.”   
  
Calroy clears his throat. “The issue is not one of hate or not hate, this is an issue of danger and of fear. Basha Myaso knows the insult his wife has given Candia in dishonoring herself. He knows Candia has much reason to hold a grudge, which might be taken out on his wife or his people or both. But he also knows that the Church knows he’s a heretic and would love to see him hang and his people’s culture stamped out. However, both our side and the Church’s will initially be prioritizing destroying the other. But after that…. he must weigh the risk of a crusade versus a vendetta.”   
  
“But we don’t want vengeance on him or his wife or his people, can’t we just tell him that?” Ruby asks, hopelessly frustrated.

“Well, I don’t know Ruby.” Calroy replies. “What would you say if you did desire vengeance, but needed his vote anyway? What assurance can you give that once he hands you power, you will not use it however you like. What you have to understand is that you are asking him to bare his neck and his family’s and people’s to your sword. If it were you, would you find it worth it to risk your family’s necks for the same?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” Ruby concludes in glum defeat. “God, this is awful. Is this all of politics, just a room full of people who have the fate of the world resting on their ability to cooperate with each other, but can’t trust each other?”   
  
“Yes, that is pretty much politics in a nutshell. Well done again, Ruby. You do have such a gift for both seeing and stating the clear nature of things” Calroy says, cheery but not condescending, he hopes. Perhaps they do Ruby a disservice by comparing her to Lazuli so much, who so often saw the truth so clearly that she obscured its meaning for others. Not that Calroy would ever say as much out loud, especially not in front of Amethar, or worse, Theo. Their wrath would be as mighty as their pain would be needless, especially Amethar’s.

“So what can we do?” Ruby asks

“Oh, that’s easy!” Calroy continues in the same cheery tone. “Nothing! Or rather, we’ve already done it. Right now, we might say anything in order to grab power, so all our promises are worthless. All that we can do to earn their trust and their allegiance has already been done, and it will either be enough or it won’t.”

“Could I maybe revisit the idea of running?” Liam asks, half joking, half not.   
  
“So it’s all pointless,” Ruby says, darkly. “Everything has already been decided, it’s always the fucking same.”   
  
“Hey, hey. Listen,” Amethar puts a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and waits for her to look back up at him before he continues. “It’s not pointless. I know that it seems that way, I get that. But I also know that the friends we make? The people we’re good too? That’s never pointless. I made friends with Cal twenty years ago and look at what’s happened now.”

“You made friends with Manta Ray Jack twenty years ago.” Ruby counters. “Look at him now.”   
  
Amethar steps back, stunned and hurt. Then he gathers himself and presses on. “Yeah, well, even if we lose this, I’m not going to regret being friends with him. And I’m not going to regret the other day and showing the Dairy Islands that even after all that shit that’s happened, our alliance and our faith and trust and friendship is still strong. And I hope you and Jet don’t regret making friends with Annabelle.

“Whatever happens next, the only thing I would regret is not telling you that you, and your sister. You are the greatest Rocks I’ve ever known. Which makes you the best women I have ever known. And I’m so proud of you— and I’m so sorry” —his voice breaks— “that I am not a father worthy of you being pr—”   
  
Ruby is tearing up as jumps up and flings herself into her father’s arms and sweeps him up in a hug. Amethar catches her in the air, and then curls his arms into an even tighter embrace. He looks like his heart has been cracked open, and it makes Cal want to look away to give privacy to what has been bared. Over the top of Ruby’s head, Amethar catches Jet’s eye.

Jet huffs and crosses her arms. “Maybe I wanted to be mad a little longer, did you even think of that?” Then she throws herself into the hug.

“Aw yeah bring it in.” Liam says, attaching himself onto the outside of the hug like a barnacle. “This is so great you guys, I’m so glad I’m staying.”

Amethar starts a low growl deep in his chest that transforms into a valiant war cry. They draw looks from the surrounding people as Amethar Rocks, the unfallen, lifts his family up off of the ground and swings them about as the squeal and cheerin. It is a hug that deserves to go down in the history of the ages.

And that’s when, with an impeccable sense of drama, the courier bursts into the room. 

“Announcing Senator Ciabatta,” they call, as Ciabatta comes into the courtroom on their heels.

The shuffle over to the council gathering happens quickly. One Ceresian courtier runs to Senator Ciabatta to whisper in his ear what has happened while another straightens the Senator’s rumbled toga, askew from whatever the hell he was doing that was so much more important than what had turned into the biggest political event of the year.

Eventually, each council member is sat at their own makeshift bench. The Pontifex looking regal and imposing; Plumbeline sitting quiet and subdued; Lord Basha Myaso exuding and air of steady pensivity; Primsy looking anxious but resolute; Lord Ciabatta looking harried; Prince Cabbage looking vapid and empty; and Liam looking awkward and terrified. 

The Lord Applebottom rises and speaks “I, Lord Applebottom, serving in my capacity as secretary and moderator for the imperial council, do call this meeting to order. The sole item of business is voting on the matter of the next emperor. I would like to start off by asking the winner of the jousting tourney to report. Sir Theobald Gumbar, who did you nominate for candidate for succession?”   
  
Theobald straightens to attention and speaks. “I nominated Amethar Rocks, your lordship.”   
  
Applebottom nods. “So that is one vote for Amethar Rocks.”   
  
“Uh, I would also like to vote for Amethar.” Liam awkwardly inserts, his hand half raised. Calroy wants to groan.

Lord Applebottom blinks rapidly several time. “Count Wilhemina, yes?”   
  
“Yup, that’s me.”   
  
“This is your first time serving as a council member after winning the archery competition, correct?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Well let me first say congratulations and welcome into your office and onto this council. You’re new here, so let me also say that we do sort of have a point of order here. People don’t really just shout out who they’re voting for, we have a process.”   
  
“Oh, sorry.” Liam’s hands nervously play with Peppermint Preston in his lap, like a noble with an exotic lap pet. Calroy can already hear the reputation of eccentricity the newest imperial councilor will get.   
  
Lord Applebottom waves the apology away. “Perfectly alright, perfectly alright my dear boy. It’s your first time, we all had to be new at some point. Here, let me take you through the process. To decide what order the vote goes councilors such as yourself pick numbers out of this bag.” He holds up a peach fuzz velvet bag to Liam. “Here, would you like to pick one?”   
  
“Oh okay.” Liam picks a folded slip of paper out of the bag and opens it, mouth silently working as he reads the number. “It says one, that means I go first right? Yeah, I vote for Amethar.”

If Calroy had any less self control than he did he could be muffling a moan into his hand and slapping the other to his forehead. They are lucky that Applebottom’s such a gentle hand on moderation and that Liam’s vote was never a secret, which is the main purpose of the voting system. The votes cannot be secret in order to hold the voting members accountable, but a system with no order could result in a standstill as all hold off their votes trying to go last when the sides are dawn and pick the winning side. Even though there’s no harm done and Liam’s bias is no secret, Calroy desperately wishes he’d taken some time out of their huddle to explain things.   
  
Applebottom continues to take Liam’s missteps in stride. “Okay, that’s two votes for Amethar Rocks. Again, don’t really just call things out. Really you’re supposed to wait until everybody goes, but don’t worry about it, it’s your first time. Two votes for Amethar Rocks! My Pontifex,” Applebottom holds the bag out now to Brassica. “Would you care to take a number?”   
  
The Pontifex, upright and regal, dips her head in graceful ascent. She selects a number from the bag. Applebottom goes up to each of the councilors in the bag. 

“Right, now that the numbers are distributed, who has the two?   
  
The Pontifex silently holds up her silver filigree number. Calroy looks heavenwards. He would like to lodge a complaint at the universe, somebody somewhere has got to be cheating. It’s the worst time she could go. Calroy had been desperately hoping they could build up more momentum, or that some of the Pontifex’s support would be divided without having conferred and lacking direction by going before her, but no such luck.

The Pontifex speaks. “In my capacity of my duty as defender of the faith, who must protect the imperial throne from a heresy perverting its seat, I choose someone who will embody and defend our empire’s values and its  _ family _ ’ _ s  _ values. I nominate Prince Cabbage.”   
  
Calroy had guessed as much. The Pontifex’s necessary posturing aside, it’s the smart move, with Plumbeline disgraced and guaranteed to vote for the Pontifex’s pick.   
  
And that’s what exactly happens when she goes next. Plumbeline holds up her three and gives an uncharacteristic mumble. 

“I’m sorry my dear lady, what was that?”   
  
“I vote for Prince Cabbage.” Plumbeline repeats.

After Plumbeline there is a too long pause.

“We need a four, is there a four?”   
  
In his ear Prince Cabbage’s servant is whispering something that probably goes along the lines of “ _ Do you want to be emperor, yes or yes, there’s no choice you idiot.” _ _  
_ _  
_ “Yes, I have a four.”   
  
Lord Applebottom prompts, “And your vote, my lord?”   
  
“I also vote for Prince Cabbage. Which is me.”   
  
That’s the other unfortunate genius of the Pontifex’s strategy, it guaranteed another vote and turned a formerly neutral party.

“Well, it’s looking to be my turn.” Primsy says, holding up her five. “The Dairy Islands, in following with the wishes of our later emperor, and in the name of common decency” —she shoots the Pontifex a reproachful look— “and above all in name of the longtime friendship we have enjoyed with Candia and House Rocks, and our knowledge of their loyalty, goodness, and kindness and holding of all the virtues our empire needs, we vote for Amethar Rocks.”   
  
In the rows of pews, Stilton Cordeau slumps over like a felled tree.

“So that’s three votes for Amethar Rocks and three votes for Prince Cabbage. Who has the six?”   
  
Lord Basha Myaso grimly holds up the number like it’s a death sentence. This was the worst possible outcome for the Meatlander from his perspective. Being a tiebreaker means that there is no reason to be spared the wrath should someone other than their pick become the victor. He needs to pick the winner, and he has no idea how Ciabatta will vote. For a moment, Calroy thinks he’s lost his nerve and will throw away his vote on a neutral like Ciabatta with no chance of winning. Then he breaks his silence. “Though I of course acknowledge the wisdom of the church, I must of course follow the wisdom of my late emperor, who has seen clearly his candidates virtues both on and off the battlefield. I vote for Amethar Rocks.”   
  
Liam gives a small but obvious fist pump that they’re going to have to work on if he is to keep serving as councilor. The boy shoots Basha Myaso a grin. Myaso inclines his head at him, but doesn’t look joyed but grim. Basha’s vote is not because his faith in the Candians won out, he simply picked the lesser of two evils. Calroy wonders if for him, he picked a less dangerous enemy or a more satisfying direction for one one last “fuck you.”   
  
Senator Ciabatta holds up his seven. The room is dead quiet.

In Calroy’s mind, he knows Ciabatta is solid. There is no reason for him not to be, no other reason for him to give so much information to the princesses when it cost him nothing to keep. But in Calroy’s heart, he is painfully aware that this man has the power to take everything from them. If Ciabatta’s vote ties out the council, the most likely resolution will be to find the Candia council member, and that could go anything. The Pontifex will probably try to get herself installed as the interim imperial custodian, and all will be lost.

For a moment Calroy thinks Senator Ciabatta is looking at him. Then he realizes the Senator’s gaze is directed slightly to his left. Beside him, Jet has one hand gripping her sisters, the other has a death grip on the banister so tight he thinks the marbled cake banister will shatter. 

“I of course must default to the wisdom of my emperor. To new friends. I vote for Amethar Rocks.”   
  
Lord Applebottom addresses the crowd. “The council votes five to three to confirm Amethar Rocks. All hail the emperor.”   
  
A roaring cheer goes through the crowd, “Long live the emperor!”   
  
“My emperor,” Calroy whispers in Amethar’s ear. “May I suggest that as your first act in your new office, you arrest Belizabeth Brassica and Plumbeline.”   
  
“And Plumbeline, huh,” Amethar says, his dismayed gaze falling on the daughter of his old dear dead friend. It is a gaze filled with regret, even though she betrayed that daughter. Even though she would have seen his family slaughtered. Even though he knows that and has said as much himself. Calroy is preparing to have to gently break the news to his friend, when Amethar shakes off whatever fugue and moves.

“As emperor, I order the arrest of Belizabeth Brassica and Plumbeline Uvano.”   
  
“Of course, your imperial majesty.” Constano Grissini steps forward. “And what are the specific charges?”   
  
“Trying to kill me.”   
  
“Of course, your imperial majesty. Belizabeth Brassica, I place you under arrest for conspiring against the life of Amethar Rocks and against the Candian throne.” He moves with no fuss or frills to do the same with Plumbeline. But it is still quite the spectacle. 

Calroy will admit, it is a satisfying spectacle to see the Pontifex led away in chains. If he angles himself right, the tower of her hair even blocks out the shuffling and dejected form of Plumbeline Uvano.

The other Candians have stood and regathered, Theo gives Liam a hearty slap on the back and Lapin gives a more subdued but no less emphatic nod before Liam is swept up and away in another triple combo Rocks’ family hug.

Calroy takes a moment to savor victory. His king’s assured safety and righteous ascension, the Pontifex’s humiliating removal from the oard. Then he puts Brassica out of his mind. He must ever move forward.

“The emperor will need a Pontifex present as part of his ceremonial swearing in. Who among us is qualified to tell us of Brassica’s successor?” Cal asks.

The reedy looking onion man Calroy recalls Brassica speaking to before steps forward. “I— I have made a study of the relevant scriptures. I believe that I have both the necessary authority and expertise to speak on this matter,” the wispy man stutters.   
  
Calroy quickly sizes him up. On the one hand, he was talking with the Pontifex only just moments before. On the other hand, a co-conspirator might have less of the bewildered anxiety he displayed there. Then again, Calroy takes in the hand wringing and hunched in form. Maybe he shouldn’t read too much into any present anxiety, when it seems so constant regardless of circumstance. Should he trust this man or not, a call must be made for his king.

Then Calroy remembers the magic book of truth telling they have, and that half the bullshit he has become accustomed to dealing with as a part of his job can just be magically thrown away.

Calroy loves magic. 

“I see,” Calroy says. “And would you be willing to swear that on the book of St. Citrina?”   
  
“Oh,” the onion man looks up in surprise, though not the same dismay as when the book had been brought out to Plumbeline. More like he too had forgotten that it exists. “Of course!”   
  
The book is fetched from the end of whatever series of handoffs Calroy started when he had finished questioning the Pontifex. When the onion man has it delivered into his hands, he smooths his palms over the cover and then abruptly stopped, as if he was about to open it to read on instinct and only realized the absurdity of what he was doing at the last second. 

“Your name, for the record, my good man.” Calroy instructs.

Lapin has begun to loom at Calroy’s elbow in that unnervingly stealthy way of his. He is staring at the book with a keen eye and the strangest look on his face.

“Oh, Oliver Onionpatch.” 

“And have you ever known about or conspired in a plot against the life and throne of Amethar Rocks?”   
  
“Of course not, my lord.”   
  
Calroy gestures for Onionpatch to proceed. 

“Right. Well, traditionally when the Pontifex becomes, indisposed” Onionpatch phrases delicately, “then the next Pontifex is selected as the highest ranking primogen.”   
  
“Which would be?” Calroy prompts after a moment.

“Oh, that would be me.” Onionpatch. His eyes widen in alarm at the implications of that fact. “But— but wait! The church has similar scripture to that of the empire. No two consecutive Pontifexes can be from the same land. To prove that the bulb shines equally on us all. The meatlander primogen has died, and Primogen Alfredi has been arrested, so the highest ranking primogen would be— Primogen Lapin Cadbury.”   
  
“Oh, no.” Lapin whispers at Calroy’s side.

For a brief moment there is a look of profound panic on Lapin’s face. Then it is hidden away so completely that if Calroy hadn’t known the man and been standing right next to him he would have thought it had only ever existed in his imagination. He walks into power like a man being led to the gallows. 

Lapin stops and turns to face the room next to Onionpatch. “I will of course accept the position of Pontifex and be happy to swear in our new emperor, once we have readied the ceremony. I think now that the matter of emperor is closed now is a good time to revisit the matter of Councilor Wilhemina’s trial, and that the only witness is a woman we know to have been conspiring against Councilor Wilhelmina’s guardian, the emperor. And did so after Councilor Wilhelmina’s keen eye saved the life of that emperor. Does anybody else want to step forward and bear witness against Councilor Wilhelmina for the crime of witchcraft?”   
  
Lapin puts emphasis in all the right places, and if anyone even considers bearing evidence against an imperial councilor and ward of the emperor, they quickly think better of it.

“Right, then I feel it is safe to say that the church has failed dismally in its preponderance of evidence, Councilor Wilhelmina, I release you from arrest with the church’s sincerest apologies. You are free to go.   
  
“Great thanks!”   
  
“Your radiance,” Primsy cries. “The conspirators within the church have also laid hands and imprisoned and tortured my house guard. I would also ask for your radiance to review that case.”   
  
“Of course, Manta Ray Jack is to be freed immediately. I will see to his injuries myself.” Lapin turns to Onionpatch. “You better bring that book. There is a conspiracy in this church and our first order of business will be routing the rot out.”    
  
With that, their new pontifex stalks off with a magnificent sweep of his cape.

“That cape sweep has to be practiced right?” Calroy says to Theo. “Like he tried that out in front of a mirror a few times and that’s how he knows it looks so good, and he’s just pretending that it’s a hundred percent natural.”   
  
“Oh yeah that cape sweep is definitely practiced.” Theo says, with the certainty of a man who has had the exact same thought many times before. “Pontifex Lapin, ha! Can you believe it?”   
  
Theo’s laugh borders on the hysterical, and his eyes are darting rapidly between the princesses as if he can say with body language alone. “ _ What the fuck?” _   


“Okay, what is this?” Calroy says, gesturing to all of them.

“What?” Ruby says, as innocently as she can manage while still recovering from the hysterics whatever secret has her in the throes in.

“That. The big joke. This big secret of Lapin’s. What is going on? I’m starting to feel tired of being left out.”   
  
“Oh that’s, something we shouldn’t talk about right here.”   
  
“But when you do find out, you’re going to laugh so much. It’s really funny.” Jet finishes.

Calroy narrows his eyes at them all. “Okay,” he says suspiciously.

“Cal, girls, Theo” Amethar rejoins and addresses them.

“Liam,” Liam says quietly to himself.

“And Liam, you’re right.” Amethar finishes. “Looks like we’re about to go to the food pyramid. If you guys want to come along, that’s fine. If you want to go back to the rooms, get some rest, I am also fine with that.”   
  
“I think we’ll stick together, right? Should someone go with Lapin, like is he going to be okay.”   
  
“Lapin is Pontifex now, I think he’s going to be more than okay. But if you want to come along, secure the pyramid, that’s fine. Calroy!”   
  
“Yes, my emperor?”   
  
“We need to talk.”   
  
They find the space to talk on a balcony off of one of the many imperial receiving rooms. To get there they had to pass through Amethar’s new throne room, which had been exhausting in its beauty and opulence. Below them, the city of Comida stretches out at their feet. The distance turns the bustling populace into a hundred crawling ants, their pace slowed as they reel from the loss of their emperor, but never stopped.

Calroy wants nothing more a glass of milk tea and his wife’s lap and to not have to do anything but sleep for a week, but he chose this work and it never stops.

For a while though, he rests in silence at the side of his king. Then Amethar speaks.   
  
“Those must be both the fanciest and luckiest pants you’ve ever worn.”   
  
Calroy looks down and finds that indeed he is wearing the pants he put on their first day heading out of Candia to impress his king at the start of it all.

“Well, yeah. And I was flying by the seat of them for most of it. Tell you what for a moment up there on that dais I was terrified you were going to get to see me shit myself one last time.”   
  
Amethar barks a laugh. “No offense, but I think I’m happy with the show I got.”   
  
“None taken.”

Amethar face turns serious. His hands smooth over the banister below them as he turns and faces the sprawl of the city. “Gustavo wanted this for me, so bad, and I messed that up.”

“Amethar—”   
  
“Don’t— don’t just wave it away. You’ve been cleaning up my messes for years, you know what my mistakes look like.”   
  
Calroy subsides. “You couldn’t have known.”   
  
“Yeah. Like that fixes anything. Nothing could have fixed this. We were fucked.”   
  
Amethar turns to Cal. “Until you.”   
  
“My king—”   
  
Amethar talks right over him, never stopping. “Only one man, whose stood beside me, all this time. Only one man. Through war and peace and grief and all my stupidity and fuck ups and everything. Only one man. And you never stop being there for me, not for a moment. You never stop. We were all going to start celebrating and you were already calling for the replacement of the Pontifex.   
  
“You would have done the same if you had—   
  
“But we didn’t know, Cal that’s my fucking point. You knew, and you acted, because you’re the only one. Your brain just never stopped working. I’ve known you for over twenty years and I have benefited from every minute of it. You have given me so fucking much, you have given me friendship when I grieved my family and you’ve given me a second chance when I almost lost my new one. And I— even as emperor I could never equal that gift. But I want to start giving back.

“Calroy, I want to make you imperial councilor. And don’t say any of the things you’ve got to say because it’s what you’re supposed to say. Don’t call me ‘your emperor’ or ‘your majesty’ or anything but my name. You saved my family, Cal. You never have to call me anything but ‘Amethar.’ Don’t act like I’m doing you a favor for you saving me and my family’s asses. Don’t say any of that.   
  
Calroy opens his mouth, and then has to close it again as he discards his first reply, and the next three he comes up after it. “Then what should I say?”   
  
“Say yes.”   
  
Calroy laughs and looks away. “I can’t, not yet. I will, but not yet. ”   
  
“Of course. Always one more fuckin’ thing with you Cal” Amethar says it fondly, understanding immediately. Still, Calroy puts it into words.   
  
“You know it’s not because I don’t want to—”   
  
“No, I know. I get it. I can’t compliment you for your wheels never stopping turning and get mad when it happens. What’ve you got for me, Cal?”   
  
“You’ll want to hold off making me imperial councilor until you can nominate some people from other nations. Make the council a little less biased. Right now the other nations will be scared, Candia controls the imperial throne and heads the church and once we sort out House Rocks we’ll have three seats on the council. We need some people outside— give me a week and I’ll have the list.”

“Done. Can it be that pasta kid— Grissini? He’s good people, and he’s had to deal with a lot more shit than he signed up for with my family, and he did it well. He should get good things for that. And I want a guy like that on the up and up in our Calorum.” 

“Well, Jet will certainly like that. Don’t make him councilor, not yet. But I’ll see if we can get him fast tracked for promotion within the army. A good way to do that would be to have him head up the search for Catherine Ghee, let him prove himself to the rest of the empire not just us. The first order of business people will be clamoring to find her, get the matter of succession closed. If it’s going to happen we might as well put our people on it. Which brings up the other reason you want to hold of on announcing my seat. You may also want to hold off on announcing me because you might want to send me to Jawbreaker.

“As soon as we find out what happened to Catherine Ghee the succession is resolved. And if she was alive when you married Caramelinda and then died, then the throne goes to Joren. And if he hasn’t surrendered by then, Candia goes to war.”   
  
“And I can’t go hang with Joren, I gotta do emperor stuff right?” Amethar says, a little ruefully but not at all whiny which is progress Cal appreciates.

“I mean, I guess you can go. I got Lapin for court stuff- shit.” Amethar says, realizing just how infeasible Lapin’s assistance has become.

“Yes, I imagine Lapin will be cleaning out the church for a while.” Calroy rubs around his eyes, wishing he could be in two places at once. There is always too much to do and too great a cost for not doing it.   
  
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to send the girls and Liam on their own. They can go with Theo,”   


Calroy looks up in surprise, he hadn’t thought of that.   
  
“That’s an excellent idea your— Amethar.” Calroy smiles warmly at his king. “Although, you do realize that they’re going to meet Joren for the first time—” Calroy pauses a beat. “Without you.”   
  
Amethar’s head jerks up in realization. “Oh no. Oh fuck no. Man, he’s going to tell all the good stories without me there.”   
  
Amethar pauses, thinks for a second. “He’s going to tell all the bad stories without me there.”   
  
“Well,” says Calroy, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I think they already know the worst one.”

And together, under the heat of the midday sun with the world and a thousand things to do stretched before their feet, Calroy shares a laugh with his emperor, his king, his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my anonymous real life beta, a Queen among men.
> 
> It is done! After two months of school and quarantine and all of life's whomps, it is done. I hope it was worth the wait, you can tell me if it was by kudoing and commenting. The process of this fic outlived good Cal and Jet Rocks, let's hope the party outlives it too after tonight.


End file.
